Post by Deleted on Sept 2, 2012 11:56:20 GMT -5
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A dimly lit room, only brightened by the sun shining through the window with its shutters thrown wide, housed a murderer. The rays of light caught particles of dust floating through the air in their acts, lighting them like fireflies and bringing to view just how long the room had lay dormant. It had been years since anyone had cared for the smooth wood floors, worn chairs, and brilliantly colored stained glass backsplash behind the copper sink. Yet, among the slate-gray dust that settled on the floor, footprints remained. Footprints, clawmarks, pawprints, and scuffs moved back and forth over the wood like a rake in a rock-garden. Among them were brown and red splatters. A trail of thick liquid led to a corner of the room from where a pair of shining eyes peered. If one stared just a bit harder, they could make out a canid form. Her body blended well among the dust and wooden home, the sun-dappling creating a perfect camouflage. No matter how well she was hidden, the pile on the floor was not. A carcass of some small being lay mangled at her feet. The body was beyond recognition. A pool of blood spread across the floor like spilled paint. It was then that a person would realize just what he was looking at: this was a wolf's den.
Isabeya tore at the carcass, her body slowly becoming painted with the blood of her kill as she further shredded the meat. Her gullet seemed to be constantly at work, swallowing chunks of raw food. As she finally made it to the bones, Beya stopped. The she-wolf raised her muzzle to lick her chops of the blood and bile that stained them. The feral beast yawned, a hacking noise dislodging any stray bits in her throat, before she dragged the remaining bits over to the window. The glass had been cracked out long ago, serving to create the perfect trap for birds. In the window she would leave the carcass as bait to capture more small creatures that might venture in. For now, Beya wished to digest her food and little else.
Claws clicked over the wooden floors, slowly changing from clicks to slapping footsteps. The wolf-turned-woman grabbed her dress and slipped it over her body to hide what should not have been a bother to be seen. Her hair was then wound into a tight bun, before the werewolf crawled out her bedroom window. The fire escape met her booted feet with a creak.
The femme's wine-hued eyes scanned over the city, reminiscing as her warm body responded to the food it had been given. Isabeya scanned the debris below. Being on the third floor gave her the advantage: She could see everything.
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A dimly lit room, only brightened by the sun shining through the window with its shutters thrown wide, housed a murderer. The rays of light caught particles of dust floating through the air in their acts, lighting them like fireflies and bringing to view just how long the room had lay dormant. It had been years since anyone had cared for the smooth wood floors, worn chairs, and brilliantly colored stained glass backsplash behind the copper sink. Yet, among the slate-gray dust that settled on the floor, footprints remained. Footprints, clawmarks, pawprints, and scuffs moved back and forth over the wood like a rake in a rock-garden. Among them were brown and red splatters. A trail of thick liquid led to a corner of the room from where a pair of shining eyes peered. If one stared just a bit harder, they could make out a canid form. Her body blended well among the dust and wooden home, the sun-dappling creating a perfect camouflage. No matter how well she was hidden, the pile on the floor was not. A carcass of some small being lay mangled at her feet. The body was beyond recognition. A pool of blood spread across the floor like spilled paint. It was then that a person would realize just what he was looking at: this was a wolf's den.
Isabeya tore at the carcass, her body slowly becoming painted with the blood of her kill as she further shredded the meat. Her gullet seemed to be constantly at work, swallowing chunks of raw food. As she finally made it to the bones, Beya stopped. The she-wolf raised her muzzle to lick her chops of the blood and bile that stained them. The feral beast yawned, a hacking noise dislodging any stray bits in her throat, before she dragged the remaining bits over to the window. The glass had been cracked out long ago, serving to create the perfect trap for birds. In the window she would leave the carcass as bait to capture more small creatures that might venture in. For now, Beya wished to digest her food and little else.
Claws clicked over the wooden floors, slowly changing from clicks to slapping footsteps. The wolf-turned-woman grabbed her dress and slipped it over her body to hide what should not have been a bother to be seen. Her hair was then wound into a tight bun, before the werewolf crawled out her bedroom window. The fire escape met her booted feet with a creak.
The femme's wine-hued eyes scanned over the city, reminiscing as her warm body responded to the food it had been given. Isabeya scanned the debris below. Being on the third floor gave her the advantage: She could see everything.
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